


The Blood Alchemy Conundrum

by Allychik6



Series: The Fic Where Draco is an Asshole [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Also the Peluda, And as the series title implies Asshole Draco, And some of those things are even cannon, Auror Harry Potter, Dark Artefacts Specialist Draco Malfoy, Featuring!the Fwooper and the Thunderbird, It's sort of public too, M/M, Phone Sex, Potions Ingredients, does that mean I can say public sex?, more like mental, sexytimes!, sort of ptsd/sort of torture? not like gross torture, which means dirty talks (sort of by definition am I right?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28630713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allychik6/pseuds/Allychik6
Summary: Dracolikeshis life in New York. He likes the smell and the people and the food. He likes sleeping on the cot in his lab and all the interesting potions/ingredients he analyzes. If forced, he would even say he likes his partner, Roxi, who keeps putting up with him.There are downsides, the French Aurors for one, Harry untouchable on the other side of the ocean for another. But most days, he wouldn't trade New York for London, even if it means working with Luis, spawn of the Devil while Henri lounges in Harry's bed being louche and French. Draco made that choice. Besides, there's always the texts.What makes a couple fifteen minutes late to brunch? HPYou’re an idiot. DMGreat. Now Roxi is glaring at me. DMWhy? HPI’m supposed to pay attention to this briefing, but everyone knows I’m not leaving the office. She’s just pissed because she has to bring the artefact to me. DMIsn’t that what every day is like for you? HPYes, they are my minions and I their overlord. Roxi, bring me interesting things to dissect, Potter, fetch me coffee! ;) DMAnd you wonder why no one likes you? HPNot at all. DM
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: The Fic Where Draco is an Asshole [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076237
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	The Blood Alchemy Conundrum

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! If you haven't read the Muggle Technology Integration Project or the Cursed Watch, I would HIGHLY recommend you do so before reading this story. The Cursed Watch introduces a few characters who are a bit important to the events in this story, and the Muggle Technology Integration Project sets up the whole relationship between Harry and Draco. I'm not saying you _can't_ read this story without having read the other two, but it probably helps a whole lot.
> 
> Also, I really wanted to stick with my posting schedule for this story, so it is going up unbeta'd. If you see something, a sentence or a scene that doesn't make sense, let me know and I'll try to fix it.

“If I see one more report that comes in without the necessary evidence tags, then I am going to send each and every one of you back to the Academy for a remedial course in writing reports!” Jenkins slapped the file down on the table. “And Mason, you have got to improve your handwriting; I need to read the damn words.” 

Draco felt a slight buzz against his leg and slipped his phone from his pocket. 

_Waiting for Ron and Hermione and they are fifteen minutes late. Are you busy? HP_

_In the middle of a meeting. This is more interesting. DM_

Draco typed and then covered his phone with his hand. Jenkins had moved on to berating them for the lack of training hours and poor casting performance in the last round of recertifications. 

_What makes a couple fifteen minutes late to brunch? HP_

_You’re an idiot. DM_

He looked up from the screen to see Roxi frowning at him. 

“Also, we have an Auror pair from France coming over to liaise with us over those illegal phoenix ingredients. And I expected each and every one of you to be respectful and more importantly helpful.” 

_Great. Now Roxi is glaring at me. DM_

_Why? HP_

_I’m supposed to pay attention to this briefing, but everyone knows I’m not leaving the office. She’s just pissed because she has to bring the artefact to me. DM_

_Isn’t that what every day is like for you? HP_

_Yes, they are my minions and I their overlord. Roxi, bring me interesting things to dissect, Potter, fetch me coffee! ;) DM_

_And you wonder why no one likes you? HP_

_Not at all. DM_

_They’re here. Later. HP_

The other Aurors in the conference room were getting up, some grumbling over the bollocksing they’d all just gotten. Well, the ones who had been paying attention anyway. Draco tucked his phone back in his pocket and waited calmly for the masses to depart before trying to make his own way back to his lab. Perhaps he’d pop out for a quick coffee first? 

“You weren’t listening at all, were you?” Roxi was still scowling at him. 

“Was I supposed to?” Draco asked sweetly. 

She was standing between him and the door, hands planted firmly on her hips just like her mother when she was angry. “You’re lead on the Phoenix ingredients.” 

Draco thought back to the potions sitting in his cabinet and that enchanted feather that was still waiting to be dissected. “Uh, yes?” 

“Which means you’re the one who has to work with the French Aurors.” 

If that was where the ingredients were originating, then that would make sense. After all, Draco had been the one to identify the phoenix tears in that salve that had caused a victim to burst into flames rather than heal their burn scar. “I guess so.” 

For a moment Roxi just blinked at him. “Who, exactly, do you think the French sent?” 

She could literally see the realization dawn on Draco as he considered just who the Auror pair would be. 

“Oh shit.” 

Draco went back to his lab in a dark mood. His wiggentree sample was still sitting out underneath the microscope waiting for him, taunting him with the knowledge that before the meeting Draco had been on the verge of identifying the difference between the healing sparkles and protective sparkles, and now all he had was the depressing future of Luis to look forward to. 

With a grimace and a sigh, he reluctantly put the sample back in it’s protective case, wiped non-existent dust from the microscope, and then put everything away in their respective cabinets. There was nothing else for it then, but to gather the three different potions and the cursed feather, lay them out on his table, and decide where to start. With the potion that set people on fire? There was the potion that had induced a sort of berserker state which Draco was pretty sure had a charm in it which may or may not have been related to a Phoenix song? The strange red vial which had been confiscated at customs from a muggle? Or the charmed feather. 

As the feather was currently being kept in a containment receptacle and Draco had already done a cursory study of the first two potions, he started with the red vial. There were a few ways he could go about determining what it was, but Draco preferred to start with a thorough physical assessment before spells or charms. 

It was a sort of rusty-red color and viscous in the vial, sliding slowly down the glass as Draco turned it back and forth in the light. The light did not filter through the liquid well. With a pair of large tweezers, Draco carefully pried off the cork and sniffed it. “Iron?” 

There wasn’t anything else, just the strong smell of iron, so Draco poured a small drop onto one of his slides and then got his microscope back out. Underneath the magnification, the liquid sparkled brightly, almost so brightly as to glow. Draco increased the magnification, to see between the sparkles, and then he could see the pattern in the flashes, the same pattern he saw in the wiggentree and the dragon liver. It had the same red tint in the sparkle as the dragon liver too. 

Draco leaned back and stared unseeing at the cabinet doors. There was only the one sparkle, the one pattern, the one color. It wasn’t a potion, but phoenix blood. Dragon blood was thinner, more translucent, and there weren’t many other bloods that contain those same healing properties. Unicorn, perhaps, but the color and viscosity was different. Why would a muggle have been carrying a vial of phoenix blood? 

It wasn’t uncommon for potions to be confiscated from muggles, but mostly they were snakeoil types of things, more likely to do harm than good. But a full vial of Phoenix blood? That would cost a pretty penny, no reason to just give away nearly an ounce of the stuff. 

It did happen, very occasionally, that witches and wizards looking to skirt the magical customs regulations would use muggles as a sort of drug mule to get things across the border. In those cases it was nearly impossible to trace the contraband back to the witch or wizard, the contraband would have just changed hands too many times, from muggle to customs to the muggle liaison stationed at the airport to the Auror pair and then finally to Draco’s office. There would be too many magical signatures on the vial to get an accurate reading, and time would have degraded the initial signature. 

Well, that would be a problem for the French authorities then. Draco began to pack the three vials into a transportation case, and then retrieved an evidence form to document his findings. He was making notes on the charmed feather when there was a loud knock on his open door. 

Draco froze without turning to face it. He never faced the door if he could help it, finding the movement of people and voices distracting, but he often left the door open as an indicator that he was receptive to work related interruptions. Which meant whoever had knocked on his door felt he wouldn’t welcome the interruption. 

Which meant it was Roxi, with fucking Luis. 

He squared his shoulders, straightened his papers, and then slid off his stool, all before turning to face the door head on. 

And there he was with his pointy, ratfaced face, and his dark hair and his dark eyes, and that cruel turn of his mouth. Draco frowned, deeply. Jenkins had argued, not unreasonably, that those were many of the same characteristics that Draco possessed and thus he couldn’t possibly expect people to reject Luis when they were expected to tolerate Draco. And Draco had replied, in a tone that was only a little sullen, that people should judge Luis because Draco knew all of that and still found Luis unacceptable. 

That was the point that Jenkins suggested Draco call his therapist and the whole argument had only escalated. It hadn’t exactly ended in Draco’s favor. 

But, today, all he had to do was hand over evidence. So Draco raised his chin, pasted what passed for a neutral expression on his face, and girded his loins. “Luis.’ 

“Draco,” Luis purred. 

Draco sucked in a breath through flared nostrils and looked at Roxi. 

Who was looking very, very sorry indeed. 

“Left Henri behind, have you?” He tried for small talk while he packed up his notes. 

“Not at all.” Luis stepped farther into the room. He didn’t touch Draco, hadn’t tried that since the first time and Draco had promptly dislocated his shoulder, but he did stand very close. Close enough for Draco to smell the cologne on him, to recognize the scent as one his father had worn. It set his teeth on edge. “Henri will be along this afternoon or tomorrow. He’s finishing a consultation in London.” 

“Oh?” Draco said dispassionately, stomach cramping tightly at the thought of Harry and Henri in London together. He hadn’t the right to be upset about that; Draco had left London after all. There was no him and Harry, if there ever had been. 

“These look very interesting?” Luis leaned over the vials. “But we certainly won’t be needing that feather,” he tutted and Draco heard the mocking in his tone. 

His hands stilled, and Draco flicked his attention to Luis. “Oh? Are you not here for the illegal phoenix ingredients?” 

“Mmm,” Luis ran one long finger across the glass box containing the feather. He turned his back on the counter and fixed Draco with a flirtatious expression. “Dragons again.” 

Draco frowned harder at the pun, intentional or otherwise. “Well, I’m afraid there are no dragons in this lab for you.” 

Luis laughed loudly, the noise grating on Draco’s ears and the muscle on his cheek threatening to twitch. His hand was twitching too, the right hand, close to where his wand sat in it’s thigh holster. And if Draco was thinking of drawing it, it might have been to cast a perfectly innoclus spell, like Aguamenti. He was _thirsty_. 

“Alright.” Roxi stepped between them, one hip twitching to put more distance between them, hands held up and out in a call for restraint. “Let’s not start this case with bloodshed.” 

Draco looked at her and raised both his hands in surrender. “You’re right.” And then he turned away from the two of them, put even more distance between him and Luis so as not to see the turn of his lip or the dark, heady look in his eyes, as if he were just spoiling for a reason to taunt Draco. Draco didn’t need to see it to know it was there, and if he didn’t see it then he could lie to himself, tell himself that maybe he was imagining the bloodlust in Luis’s eyes. 

Could tell himself he wasn’t afraid of Luis. 

Roxi let out a noisy exhale. “Now that the pissing contest is over, perhaps we can go over the details of the case. Because I talked to Jenkins, and we aren’t finding any illegal dragon ingredients, so, let’s go over the evidence. Together.” 

Draco rolled his eyes at the wall in front of him and didn’t see Luis conjure two more stools. But he could hear the incantation. “Great, ambient magic in my lab. Good thing I wasn’t doing anything delicate.” 

“Just let it go.” Roxi scowled at him. 

“Not like ambient magic in my lab hasn’t caused injuries before, to innocent bystanders no less.” Draco pointed out, a direct reference to Granger in his lab in London and the huge problems that had caused. 

“Did you want to go to the conference room?” Roxi raised her eyebrows and thrust her hands back on her hips again. 

Draco recognized her I-have-had-enough-of-your-nonsense expression, scowled at the floor, and said darkly, “Nope, damage already done.” 

They all sat down at the counter, and Luis pulled a shrunken file from his pocket, tapping it with his painfully ridgid wand. Draco glared but bit his tongue to keep from actually saying anything. It wasn’t enough. So, Draco tucked his hands underneath his legs, arms brutally straight, in an effort to keep himself from shoving Luis off his stool. 

Luis spread the papers across the table. “It is a Peluda, protected in France and illegal to ‘arvest any organs. We ‘ave found two corpses in the last two months; organs, blood, scales, even some bone missing.” 

Roxi leaned over the drawing of the with its numerous spines and webbed toes. “An amphibious dragon?” 

“A river dragon.” Luis confirmed. “We ‘ad a lead on a man trying to export and traced ‘im to the Port du Calais. Eight ships left in our timeline, four for New York, two for London, and 1 each for Cairo and Algiers. We ‘ave determined the ingredients did not arrive in Cairo and Algiers, and Henri is in London searching there. We must search ‘ere for the boats.” 

“Great.” Draco couldn’t keep biting his tongue. “The largest port on the East coast with no less than six terminals, and you want to find four boats.” 

Luis glowered at him. “And I would ‘ave thought you, of all Aurors, would be invested in the interest of dragons. It is your namesake, and you are so invested in your potion ingredients.” 

Roxi elbowed Draco hard in the side. “When do you think the boats arrived?” 

Luis nodded to himself. “Yesterday. We estimate it took approximately twelve days to arrive.” 

Roxi sighed to herself. “And it was too much to ask for you to let us know before yesterday, so we could have searched them when they arrived.” She scowled. 

And Luis shrugged. “It took us too long to identify the boats. The boats are La Vitesse, Etoile, Fatima, et Arthur.” 

“I guess we’d better head over to the Port Authority and see who’s arrived then.” Luis and Roxi stood up, their stools disappearing with another flick of Luis’s wand. 

The movement caught Draco’s eye and his gaze lingered on the pale, dry wood. He couldn’t remember seeing a wand made of that wood before and he couldn’t decide if Luis must have gotten a new one or if Draco had just been too horrified the last time he’d had to work with Luis to remember accurately. 

“You’re coming.” Roxi crossed her arms and pulled Draco’s attention away from Luis. 

Draco crossed his arms too. “I have work here to do.” 

For a moment, Roxi tilted her head back and weighed her options. She really didn’t want to have to do this herself, but would it be worth putting up with Draco’s obnoxious comments? “The sooner we find these ships, the sooner Luis gets to return to France.” 

And then it was Draco’s turn to hesitate, but eventually he did slide off his stool. “You just want me to come along because I read so much faster than you.” 

Roxi gave him a tooth filled grin. “Yeah, and like you said, there’s six terminals.” 

“Fuck you.” Draco scowled. 

The afternoon was only an improvement in that the three of them divided the six terminals between them, so Draco didn’t have to look at Luis’s pointy, ratfaced face for the few hours it took to go through four days worth of boat arrivals and their travel arrangements. He left the names of the four boats with the Dock Master and was about to call it a day when Roxi gave him a call. 

“Luis found the Etoile, docked just an hour ago and still being unloaded.” 

Draco looked down at his watch and scowled. “Great, now there’s just fifteen thousand containers to go through. How long do you think that will take?” 

Roxi huffed a tired laugh. “Depends on how many of us there are scouring the containers. If we’re lucky, probably next week.” 

“Great.” Draco let out a noisy sigh. “You contact Jenkins yet?” 

“Nah, thought I’d let you do that, give you a little more time away from him.” 

“Thanks,” he grumbled gratefully. 

“You know, one of these days you’re going to have to tell me just what he did to earn your eternal hatred.” 

Daco repressed a shiver. “I sincerely hope not,” he said and hung up the phone. 

Jenkins, in her infinite wisdom, called in every customs agent she could get her hands on, even the muggle ones. After all, they didn’t need to know exactly what contraband they were looking for, just what it looked like. 

By the time Draco made it over to the correct terminal, Luis was looking quite twitchy and shouting, “Fragile! Careful!” 

His hair was mussed and his cheeks pink with nerves; Draco almost felt sorry for him. 

“Zey will ruin it.” He muttered just loud enough for Draco to hear. “Américains stupides. Ce sont des ingrédients délicats. ils les ruineront…” He was practically growling the r’s. 

Draco just shook his head and joined the nearest line. The more hands there were, the sooner the work would be done, the sooner Luis would leave. 

It was exhausting work, opening and searching the containers. And it didn’t help that all the muggles were grumbling about the lack of information, complaining that they wouldn’t be able to find anything if they didn’t know what they were looking for. 

Draco shrugged. “If it looks like it came from an animal, you should probably tell someone.” And they all went back to the grueling task of searching. 

Around 1am, Jenkins tapped Draco on the shoulder. “Go home, get some sleep. More ships coming in tomorrow.” 

Draco looked back at his half searched container, and opened his mouth to argue for a moment. Half done just meant more work for someone else. It meant more time living in the same city as Luis. 

“You’ve done enough for now.” She said sternly. “The work will still be here tomorrow.” 

With one last look at the crates of crap, Draco nodded back at her, too tired to argue, and then took himself off to find a cab. The air was tangy with gasoline and salt, and Draco’s stomach unclenched enough for him to realize he’d skipped dinner. A bad habit from when he’d first been in America, when he’d still be consumed with nightmares and anxiety. But he didn’t want to eat, didn’t want to go back to his apartment and stare at the ceiling until light crept in through the window. So instead of giving the cab driver the address for his apartment, Draco asked for The Martini Bar. 

A little physical exertion was good for sleeping after all. 

*** 

Harry stood in line at a Starbucks in London and bemoaned his chances of making it up to the counter to place his order in the next ten minutes. Possibly in the next ten months. That woman had been standing there with her sullen teenage daughter who hadn’t looked up from her phone once for what surely must have been twenty minutes now. And while Harry couldn’t exactly hear what she was saying, it sounded like she didn’t understand what a grande macchiato was. There was a perfectly respectable tea shop across the way for those who didn’t speak fluent Starbucks! 

Giving in to the boredom, Harry flipped open his phone. Ron and Hermione were probably too busy at this time of the morning getting Rosie and Hugo ready for daycare and themselves for work, but they would certainly answer if Harry rang. And then there was Malfoy. Harry wrinkled his nose. It was definitely the middle of the night there, and a Tuesday. A Saturday or a Sunday, and Harry would have called no hesitation, but the middle of the week? 

Well, Harry could leave a rambly message that Draco could listen to in the morning, and that would fill a few minutes while he waited in line. 

Draco hadn’t been asleep for very long when his phone rang. The man next to him stirred and grumbled something and Draco was caught between paying attention to him and trying to figure out where his mobile had ended up. When the phone rang a second time. Draco slapped his hand on the nightstand several times before his fingers brushed the case. “Hello?” 

“Malfoy?” Harry asked, startled. 

Draco sat straight up in the bed. “Potter? What time is it?” 

“Not yet nine?” Harry said, 

Draco’s bedmate sat up and began kissing along Draco’s shoulder and neck. “Get rid of him.” He trailed a hand along Draco’s thigh. 

“Why are you calling me at nine am on a Wednesday morning?” 

“Come on. Pay attention to me.” The stranger moved his hand to Draco’s cock. 

“Is there someone else there?” Harry asked. Because whoever Drace had brought home was neither subtle nor quiet. 

Draco shoved his pull’s hand away. “I went out last night, pulled, but he’s leaving now,” Draco said pointedly at his soon to be departed aquantenace. “You were lovely, the door’s over there.” 

“Asshole.” Draco heard in both ears, although Harry’s sounded far more affectionate and British. 

“Yes, I’m an asshole. Now leave.” 

“You don’t have to kick him out.” Harry said, the line moving forward as the incompetent woman moved aside adn her sullen teenager rattled off an order at top speed. “I was just bored and needed to complain about this ridiculous queue.” 

Draco watched as the stranger pulled on his shirt and pants, glared at Draco and then slammed the door. “That’s okay, he wanted round two, and I already fucked him. Tell me about the queue, Potter.” 

“You fucked him?” Because that sounded infinately more interesting then a stupid queue. And besides, Harry had been the one who topped when Draco had been in London, and now he really wanted to know what it would be like to have Draco inside him. “Was he any good?” 

“Did you call just to find out about my sexual exploits?” Draco laid back down on the bed, stroked his stomach lazily. “And he was fine.” 

“What did he look like?” Harry asked, taking another step closer to the register. Draco’s lips curled into a wicked smile; Harry _had_ called to find out about Draco’s exploits. He let his fingers tease lower. “Why? Are you trying to imagine me in bed with him?” 

“Maybe I am?” Harry smiled, mind imagining what Draco must look like in his bed, hair sleep mussed and grown out now. Did he sleep in his earrings? In pajamas? In the buff? Surely he was naked if he’d pulled and the bloke had fallen asleep. 

“Well,” Draco drew out the word slowly, seductively. “I saw him last night at the bar, all that messy hair, the kind that’s perfect for pulling on when he went down on me.” 

“Uh-huh.” In Harry’s mind it was a place like their club, although, Harry remembered, Draco had said he went to a martini bar. Maybe he found him there? What did martini bars look like? 

“And he had broad shoulders, fit in the palm of my hand when I sank down on him.” Draco continued, hand and breath shaking. 

Harry was getting a little breathless himself remembering when Draco did that to him. “Thought you were the one fucking him?” 

“Maybe, maybe I am thinking about you right now.” Draco’s mouth curved into another slow smile. “Remembering that night. Fuck, Potter. Wish you were here now.” Because a hand was most certainly second rate when Harry’s mouth sounded so close. “God,” he moaned. 

Harry was practically panting now, listening to the not so quiet noises Draco was making on the other end of the line, and things were definitely getting tight in his trousers. “Merlin, Draco.” 

The noises were taking on a desperate tone now, harsh puffs of air against the phone and Harry remembered just how Draco had screwed his eyes shut tight, cheeks and chest pink and heaving. He could hear the wet thwack of Draco’s hand and was tempted to press his own to the bulge in his trousers. The mobile was certainly leaving marks on his ear from how tightly Harry was pressing it, trying to catch every breathless moan, every muffled sigh, and the way Draco went completely silent when he came. 

“Welcome to Starbucks. What can I get you?” The cashier asked as Harry reached the front of the line. 

Harry startled and jerked, nearly dropped his phone. 

“Potter?” Draco asked, still breathless and sounding vulnerable. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, uh, Venti Blonde--blonde venti.” Harry stuttered and the cashier gave him a dubious look while Malfoy huffed a quiet laugh 

“Oh Christ, did I come while they were talking to you? Are you trying to order while you’re hard and confused? Please tell me you're hard and confused.” 

Harry glared at his feet, “I hate you.” He handed over £2 and moved down the line away from that horribly embarrassing moment. 

Draco just cackled louder. “Oh Potter!” He choked out between laughs. “Best thing to happen to me in months.” 

“I hate you so much.” Harry collected his To Go cup and quickly made his way to the door. 

“You have no idea how much I needed that.” Draco wiped the corner of his eye. 

“Why, what’s going on?” Harry took a sip and savored the heat. 

“Hmm,” Draco said darkly. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s talk about your queueing problem instead. Was it an American?” 

“No, but definitely a tourist. I’ve got my coffee now, so that’s one disaster averted.” Harry took another sip and started down the pavement. It was crowded with pedestrians and he had to swerve to get around the slower ones. “We’ve been working this mind numbing case, looking for some illegal exports.” 

“Hm,” Draco said in response, afterglow rapidly dwindling. “I know.” 

The ministry entrance was only two blocks away now. “That’s right,” Harry said suddenly. “I guess Luis must be there now. Henri said he was headed straight over to New York. I guess he was on vacation in Los Vegas or something. We’re about finished here, so Henri will be along this evening probably.” 

“Hm.” Draco pulled himself out of the bed, his good humor completely evaporated now. 

“I’d never heard of a Peluda before. The picture doesn’t even look like a dragon, it looks like some kind of porcupine or something. I saw one at the London Zoo last year for Rose’s birthday. 

Draco was having some trouble listening to what Harry was actually saying. He was trying to let the tone and voice just sort of wash over him, hoping it would soothe all those nerves he had about Luis being here and Henri being there. He padded quietly into the kitchen and got out a glass for water. It was cool in his hand, and Draco pressed it against his face trying to cool the angry flush there. But all he could see was Luis in his lab, and the way Henri had watched Harry at that conference--god was that really a year an a half ago? Those memories were bringing up all kinds of uncomfortable feelings that Draco really wasn’t interested in examining too closely right now. 

“Hermione and Ron had Henri and me over for dinner last night. It was nice, Ron cooked, which was way better than Hermione. Last time she cooked, I don’t know how she did it, but the chicken was both burnt and raw. Ron’s not brilliant at cooking, but at least everything gets cooked evenly.” 

Draco filled the now warm glass with water and tried not to think. 

“You’re not saying much. Usually you’re chattier than this. What’s going on?” Harry asked. 

Draco held the cool glass to his forehead. “It’s just Luis being here.” He didn’t say any more, didn’t quite know how to put words to his feelings. 

“I know you don’t like him, but he’s really not a bad guy. I mean, he can get a little loud, and he can be a bit of an arse, but I would think you would be familiar with all that.” 

“Hm.” Draco really wasn’t in the mood to defend his own feelings to someone on the other side of the ocean. 

“I didn’t like him a whole lot at first, but then we all went out to a pub and had a few drinks, and I realized he was an okay sort of bloke. A bit like you really.” 

Draco felt his stomach fall out. “I am nothing like him,” he said bitterly. 

“What do you have against him?” Harry asked, sounding much more defensive. “He’s a good Auror who wants to help people. What could he have possibly done to irritate you so much?” 

“Fuck off, Potter. It’s my business. I have my reasons, and you, and Jenkins, and Roxi, and Henri, and every fucking body else can just fuck right off.” He punched the end call button angrily, leaving Harry to stand in the Atrium confused and angry and not at all certain why Draco was so unreasonable about this one topic. 

Which was, of course, when the flashbulb went off causing Harry to see dark spots. 

“Harry Potter! Over here!” And, because Harry had apparently not learned his lesson, he turned towards the voice and another camera went off. 

“Mr. Potter! Care to make a comment?” 

“Mr. Potter! Does this mean there’s no reconciliation on the horizon?” 

“Mr. Potter! Care to share the identity of your new lover?” 

He blinked rapidly to clear his vision, and yes, right there was a small group of reporters holding their quick quotes quills and looking eager. “What?” Harry said stupidly. 

All those eager looks suddenly got a lot more cautious. And then one brave soul lowered her camera and said, “It was in Witch Weekly this morning. That-that the reason you and Ginevra Weasley called it quits was because-well, you’re gay.” 

Harry let out a slow breath. “Ginny and I broke up because the travel was a huge strain on our relationship. What’s this about me being gay?” 

Because, yeah, that definitely wasn’t a secret, but every single one of Harry’s friends had made a point of telling him that they wouldn’t say anything because of the press. Because of the field day it would cause, because dating was so much easier when he didn’t have to worry about illicit interviews. 

“Um,” the brave camera woman said, “You were photographed outside the Granger-Weasley home with another bloke and looking--intimate.” 

“Wow.” Harry took an actual step back. “Thank you for that.” He shook his head in an effort to physically remove the mental confusion. “I have a meeting this morning.” He held up a hand to keep the crowd at bay and walked, briskly, to the lifts, charging past several people waiting in line and most definitely hiding in a corner from the cameras. 

He stormed through the Auror department, pausing only to let the Receptionist know he was not available for anything other than Auror business. She nodded emphatically at him while trying to discreetly slide her Witch Weekly off the desk. Harry had taken two steps away from her, and then came back over to the desk. “Can I borrow that?” 

She nodded, if possible, even more emphatically and her hand shook as she held the magazine out to him. “I’ll bring it back.” And then he stormed into his office and slammed the door. 

He threw himself down into his chair and looked at the cover for the headline, Celebrities in Love. There wasn’t anything specific about his name, but Harry flipped to the four page spread of mostly pictures, including a close up of Harry and Henri laughing, heads tilted towards each other, color in their cheeks. They weren’t kissing, but it definitely looked like they might have been. 

Harry scowled in disgust as there was a knock on the door and a tentative “Harry?” from Ron. 

Harry slapped the magazine closed. “Yeah?” 

The door creaked open slowly, and Ron poked an uneasy eye into the crack. He sighed, pushed the door the rest of the way open and then stepped inside. “Um, just thought I’d see if you wanted to talk.” 

“No,” Harry said sullenly. And then, “What the fuck is wrong with people?” 

“There’s nothing incriminating in those photos. Just, give it a few weeks and all the hype will die down.” 

And just like that, Harry deflated. “I know. And it’s not a big deal, I just don’t want to have to deal with this shit, you know. And the day started off in such a good way.” Merlin, he’d listened to Draco get off! He hadn’t actually heard those noises in something like a year, and while he hadn’t _forgotten_ how much he liked them, the reminder had been so good. “Maybe Robards can send me out of town for something while all this blows over. 

Ron smiled. “Maybe you can consult with the French on this dragon thing a little longer, hm?” 

Harry leaned back in his chair. “Henri’s headed to New York after this.” 

“Yeah, cause there’s nothing in New York you want.” Ron smirked. 

Harry shook his head. “Yeah, that's exactly what I want to deal with, Henri and Draco. And let’s not forget how much Draco loves Luis who is over there now.” 

“It can’t be that bad,” Ron shrugged. “Malfoy doesn’t like anyone. How much worse can it be with Luis.” 

“A lot?” Harry said darkly, remembering the way Draco had yelled at him. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I just want this day to be over.” Because tomorrow might be better. Maybe by tomorrow Draco would have cooled off enough that Harry could send an apology text? 

*** 

La Vitesse and Arthur arrived at the dock sometime between when Draco left last night and arrived that morning. He was there at 8am for the briefing from Dubussy, Jenkin’s other half in the department. Draco sipped his fourth cup of coffee, having not been able to go back to sleep after that disastrous phone call with Potter, and took his orders to sift through several containers from La Vitesse. 

Luckily, one container was filled entirely with flatpack furniture. It was easy enough to get out his magic spectacles, find no traces of magic, and then cast a seeking spell for blood, bone, and scales. And on to the next container. 

Which was a shipment of magical figurines and portraits. Draco sighed, angrily sipped his coffee down to the dregs, and rolled up his sleeves. The portraits were a saucy mix of family relatives and more professional means of communication, mostly between businesses and schools. The more political ones tended to ship first class. 

“Oy! Mind the frame, that’s gold, you know!” One portrait shouted as Draco rummaged through the crates, shoving his hands into the sawdust. All the magic in the paint and porcelain meant that a clever thief could have hidden ingredients under a disillusionment charm and Draco wouldn’t be able to find them. A good disillusionment could hide an object from a less precise summoning charm. 

The only upside was large portraits meant large crates, and it was quick enough to make it through that half of the container. Which left the figurines. 

Draco sucked in a breath and glared contempt at them, hoping they were the larger variety, and not shrunken down to cut back on shipping costs. 

No such luck there. Draco hauled the first lid off the first crate to rows and rows and rows of miniature saucy shepherdesses winking at him. With grim determination, Draco reached into the box for the first shepherdess. She winked and flounced, causing her tiny porcelain breasts to waggle in what was surely meant to be an appealing manner. Draco tried not to shudder as he started to put her back. 

“Best check under my skirts.” She giggled and pulled her hem upwards. “I’ve got a bit of a hole under there.” 

Draco squeezed his eyes against the terrible line, and flipped the figurine upside down, grateful that she was porcelain all around rather than some sort of doll with an actual dress. The hole wasn’t under her skirts, thank god, but rather her feet, with a little cork stopper and everything. 

“How are you finding things here?” Henri asked, and Draco nearly dropped the figurine. 

He quickly flipped her back over, yanked out the cork, and shoved his finger roughly inside. She was just the right size to hide a vial of blood. 

“I thought you weren’t arriving until this evening.” Draco said angrily. 

Henri shrugged and crossed his arms. “London is very good at filing their reports. Harry promised to send it along promptly this afternoon. No need for me.” 

“Filing reports, is that what they call it now?” Draco clunked the figurine back down in her place in the row and picked up the next, ignoring her salacious wink. Were all of these shepherdesses designed for lecherous straight men? 

Henri didn’t rise to the bait, he was perpetually calm that way. And Draco yanked out the cork with significantly more force than necessary. It flew out of his hand and then rolled under a portrait crate. He glared at the crate, then the figurine, and then Henri. “You can fuck off any time now; I know how to search for evidence.” 

“And Harry assured me you know how to be respectful to your coworkers. I told him he was wrong, but he was so certain we could get along.” Henri sighed loudly, and Draco stewed in an increasingly angry silence. 

He didn’t see Henri flick his wand, but he heard the articulate accio and saw the cork float gently from the floor to his waiting hand. “Potter is an idiot,” Draco finally ground out. 

Henri chuckled softly. “He is certainly stubborn.” He placed the cork carefully on the edge of the crate. “I will leave you to your work now.” 

Draco waited several minutes before finally snatching the cork and shoving it back inside the shepherdess and angrily dropping her back in the crate and starting on the next one. “Stupid Henri, stupid Harry. Stupid, whore figurines. Fucking stupid dragon parts.” 

The muttering did not stop, and it was entirely possible that Draco broke several shepherdesses in his effort to search through them all. Nothing a quick reparo couldn’t fix, but each time Draco’s shoulders got a little tighter and his language a little more colorful. “Bleeding bints, tarts the lot of you. Not a pillow biter in the lot.” 

Cork out, finger in. empty inside. 

“‘Course you’re empty inside, nothing to you but saucy winks and empty promises.” Draco scowled. 

“I was hoping the rumors were exaggerated. Are you sexually harassing porcelain figurines?” Roxi asked incredulously. 

“What?” Draco gave her his best innocent expression as he ruthlessly pulled out a cork and shoved his finger inside. “You mean the part where I get to stick my finger inside all these tight holes and wiggle it about?” 

“That’s disgusting.” Roxi frowned. 

“No.” Draco scowled. “What’s disgusting is the faces they make when I do it.” He turned the shepherdess so Roxi could see the red tinge to her cheeks and her mouth form that breathy “o” expression. 

While she stood trying to find an appropriate response, Draco corked her and put her back. “Are you her for a specific reason, or just to mock my pain?” 

“Don’t get me wrong, it is pretty funny that the gay guy got the horny girls, but that’s just too disturbing to mock. Dubussy sent me to see if you were plotting a murder.” 

Draco closed his eyes and sat down on the edge of the crate. “I’m tired. Murder requires too much energy.” 

Roxi stepped a little closer. “Why do you smell like Clorox?” 

Draco cracked open an eye. “It’s not been a good twenty-four hours.” 

“Alright,” she snapped. “When was the last time you ate?” 

“I had breakfast.” Draco scoffed as he straightened up and reached for the next shepherdess. “If it has calories, it counts as food.” Draco braced himself for the onslaught and removed the cork. 

An onslaught that came only in various blinks and winks. “Wow. Alright, I am taking you for breakfast now, and then you are going to bed, in an actual bed, and by yourself.” 

For a moment, Draco didn’t know what to do, but the idea of going back to his apartment, where he had quarreled with Potter and then spent the rest of the night with a tub of disinfecting wipes, was unacceptable. “I just want this job finished.” 

He reached for another figurine, and Roxi put a hand on his wrist. “We are still going to be doing this tomorrow morning regardless of whether you are here or not. This isn’t a missing person, it’s not a murder, it’s potion ingrediants from an animal that is already dead.” 

And Draco withdrew his shaky hand. “Alright then. What is this breakfast you think will solve all my problems?” 

“I don’t know about all, but it’ll do for a start.” Roxi smiled and linked her arm around his. “There’s a diner.” 

Roxi waited the entire, twenty minute walk to the diner, she waited while Draco suspiciously eyed the signs and pictures in the window, as he scowled at the outdated brown leather booths and stools, as he dithered over the menu, and she waited while Draco watched the cook fry up bacon. He had dark circles under his eyes, something that was prominent whenever he didn’t sleep, and he sprawled across his side of the booth, legs taking up most of the under table space and arm resting along the back of the bench. He was carefully arranged to look bored and irritable. 

The waitress came over with a pot of coffee. “Regular or decaf?” She smiled. 

“He’ll have decaf.” Roxi nodded at Draco’s cup, and Draco scowled but didn’t object. 

When the food arrived, Roxi still waited. She waited until he had tucked in and eaten a good half of it. “So what happened last night?” 

Draco huffed a long sigh. “Potter and I just had a fight is all.” He shook his head dismissively. 

Deceptively. 

“What about?” Roxi buttered her toast; she could play this game too. 

“Ugh,” Draco groaned. “What else?” 

He finally dropped his arm, and turned fully towards her. It caused his shoulders to hunch in slightly, and he suddenly looked small. The sight pulled at Roxi; he so rarely dropped the pretense. 

“You know, eventually you're going to have to explain just why you hate Luis so much.” And then she left it at that. Cut into her pancakes and proceeded to eat as if she and Draco weren’t talking about the forbidden subject, as if she weren’t asking to have the one conversation he had been refusing to have for years. 

Draco wrapped his hands around the warm cup of coffee and pulled it along the table towards himself. “I don’t know that I can explain it, not properly.” 

“You could try.” Roxi put down her fork. 

Draco took another long, deep breath. “So, we see evil all the time, right? It’s our job. There’s a crime and then we find the criminal.” 

“Yeah.” Roxi agreed, encouragingly. 

“But, evil doesn’t start when someone commits a crime, it comes before that.” 

“I guess.” Roxi smeared jam on her toast in silence while Draco searched for words. 

His fingers went white around the white mug. “I’ve seen what evil looks like before it commits it’s crime. Evil doesn’t come out and say, ‘Let’s kill all the mudbloods.’ It stands in your dining room and smiles and tells you how brave you are to send your _only_ son to Hogwarts instead of Drumstrang. It finds a way to remind you that muggles still have anti witchcraft laws and while they haven’t burned anyone at the stake lately, that doesn’t mean they won’t again.” 

Draco looked up and caught Roxi’s eye. “Evil is charming when it ferrets out your darkest fears and uses them against you. It smiles.” 

And Draco’s eyes went long and dark as he looked away, into his coffee. 

Roxi reached across the table and put her hands over Draco’s, felt the chill in them despite the warmth of the room. “Do you think he is going to do something?” 

Draco met her gaze again. “I don’t know. But when he smiles I remember my mother sitting in the parlour watching the fire late at night and looking so desperately afraid. I just don’t trust him when he smiles.” 

After breakfast, Draco went back to his apartment. He put away the clorox wipes, folded a basket of laundry, ran the dishwasher, and went to bed. Jenkins gave him a look when he arrived for the night shift that evening, but didn’t say anything, and Draco slouched in the back with his hands in his pockets while she read out the assignments. 

He was at the docks, going sorting through enchanted shirts with two others from customs and border control when a stash of spines was found tucked underneath the clothing. Everyone stopped and stared at the jar of glittering spines while the man who had found them whooped loudly. 

“You realize your essence is now all over that evidence.” Draco scowled at his excitement. 

And the man quickly blanched and tried to hand off the jar. 

“Don’t! You’ll just muddy it even more!” Draco shouted, going for the containment receptacle sitting on the dock. 

He held it out and the man dropped in the spines. The three of them quickly emptied the box of shirts and found a box of bones too big for the containment receptacle and over twelve vials of blood. Draco took both boxes outside to Jenkins who sighed in relief when she saw him. 

“Good work. Take those back to evidence. You can do the paperwork when you come in tomorrow.” 

Draco shrugged. “Might as well do it tonight.” 

Jenkins pursed her lips, considering. “I know this has been difficult for you. If you’re tired--” 

“I’d rather just be done with it.” Draco interrupted. “I’ll do the paperwork, and we can all move on.” 

“Fair enough.” She shrugged. “You know you’ve got a lot of vacation time, you could take a few days, go see that man of yours in London. 

“I--” Draco started, shocked at the offer and how much he wanted it. And then he remembered shouting at Harry, was it really just twenty-four hours ago?. “Maybe.” 

She clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve done good. Get some sleep.” 

Draco apparated to the Auror department where it was quiet. The night shift was either out or down in booking leaving the bullpen empty and the hallways in R and D dark. The dark was rather soothing, and when Draco arrived at his lab, he opted to turn on a lamp rather than the bright overhead light while he did the paperwork. The scratch of his pen and the routine of paperwork was soothing too, and Draco could feel the strain of the day seeping out as he wrote. 

That was until he heard the scrap of a shoe frighteningly close behind him. He turned quickly in his chair, heart racing something horrid. 

“Ello, Draco.” Luis smiled. “I ‘ear you ‘ave found our stolen ingredients.” 

Draco watched as he moved from the doorway to the edge of his counter where the two boxes were waiting to be taken to Evidence for safe keeping. “Not me. But I was there.” 

Luis was still smiling as he reached out and stroked his fingers along the containment receptacle. “I am so glad to ‘ear.” 

His voice was low, almost sultry in tone, and Draco slowly reached for the comfort of his wand in his hand. 

“I ‘ave waited a long time for this.” He turned to Draco, saw the movement of his arm and drew his own wand faster. 

For a moment they both stood there, wands drawn, the silence in the room palpable. Draco could feel his heart hammering throughout his body, the uncertainty singing in his blood. What was Luis doing here, in the middle of the night, _in his lab?_ Why had he come here? He tried to suck in air through his nose, his fingers tightened on his wand. 

Suddenly, Draco’s arms snapped to his sides, his legs sprang together, and his whole body went rigid on the stool. He swayed for a moment and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board. His jaw was clenched tight leaving only his eyes to move. He watched, in horror, as Luis’s feet came into view. What had happened to him? Why couldn’t he move? Luis had not cast, he wand had not moved, no words had left his mouth. How was Draco frozen? 

“My my,” he drawled light and pleased. “What shall I do with you now?” 

And then Draco could see Luis’s face--the terrifying delight, the smug satisfaction, the way his lips curled and his eyes gleamed as if there was nothing more that he wanted in the entire world then what lay at his feet at that very moment. 

*** 

Harry slouched in his seat at the pub absently spinning his phone on the table. Ron had suggested they go out with Dean and Neville since Neville was leaving for some trip on Friday, and Dean had an art exhibit opening up. So, they rescheduled their usual Friday night for a Thursday, this time at a muggle pub four blocks from the Ministry. 

Harry wondered if Draco had been here when he’d been consulting last year. He’d known all sorts of interesting Muggle places, always had a recommendation at the ready. 

Ron came back to the table with the first round of drinks. Neville and Dean hadn’t arrived yet. He set down the pints and watched Harry spin his phone again. “Just text him already.” 

Harry slapped his hand down on the phone. “I did. He hasn’t replied.” 

Ron shrugged and took his seat. “The blighter is probably just busy. Give him a few more hours, he’ll text.” 

Harry glared darkly at his phone. “It’s been twenty-four. I texted yesterday.” 

Ron whistled. “Wow, you must have seriously pissed him off. What did you say?” 

“Who did Harry piss off?” Neville flopped into his seat. He looked very interested as he took his pint. 

Harry slouched even farther in his seat. “Malfoy.” 

“Is that still going on?” Dean asked, leaning over Harry for his drink. 

“You mean Malfoy being pissed at Harry or Harry and Malfoy texting all the time?” Ron smirked. 

“The texting thing. Why’s Malfoy pissed at Harry? Is that why he looks like someone kicked his crup?” 

Abruptly, Harry snatched the last pint and took a large swallow. “It’s stupid. I told him I was sorry. I even used the words I, am, and sorry, unlike when he tries to apologize and says crap like ‘excuse whatever obnoxious thing I did.’” Harry rolled his eyes and took another swallow. 

“Wow,” Neville peered at Harry. “You’re really upset he hasn’t responded.” 

“It’s just stupid. I don’t know why he got all upset.” Harry glared at his phone, silently urging it to chirp. 

“Well, did you ask Roxi?” Ron rolled his eyes, already knowing the answer. 

“No,” Harry grumbled. 

“What is wrong with you? Call her! She’s the only one who speaks fluent git.” 

“Calling Roxi is like admitting I did something wrong, and I didn’t!” Harry insisted hotly. “He’s the one who got all upset over nothing.” 

Dean snatched the phone and, because Harry didn’t have a lock on it, quickly rang Roxi on speaker phone.. 

“Hello?” She answered gruffly, voice low and slightly irritable. 

“Would this be the ever so wonderful Roxi?” Dean purred. 

“Who the fuck is this?” Roxi shot back. 

“Uh, Dean, friend of Harry’s actually.” Dean quickly stepped back his flirtatious tone. 

“Well, what do you want?” She snapped after Dean was silent a moment too long. 

“Harry’s been pinning over Malfoy. And we--” 

“I have not!” Harry interrupted, snatching the phone from the table. He stood up and made his way to the door where he paused and shouted back, “I have absolutely not been pinning! My friends are horrible wankers, every single one.” 

And then, once he was safely outside the pub, Harry said, “Well, but actually, I think I pissed him off yesterday, and I was just wondering if you knew anything.” 

“You two haven’t kissed and made up yet?” She asked. 

Harry scratched nervously at the back of his neck, “Er, no? He’s not replying to any of my texts. 

Roxi was silent, and Harry felt his stomach drop out. If Roxi wasn’t answering, then Draco must be more than just pissed. He must be utterly livid. Roxi always knew what was wrong, knew what to say to Harry to get the two of them talking again. 

“Roxi, if I’ve made him that mad, I need to know how to make it right again. I truly didn’t mean to. We were just talking about Luis and Henry, and I know Luis drives him up a wall and I was just trying to make it better.” 

“I haven’t seen Draco all day.” Roxi cut off his tirade. “Not since yesterday when I sent him home to sleep. He really hasn’t texted or called or anything? I know he felt badly about your fight.” 

“Nothing, and I’ve been texting him. I apologized yesterday and everything.” 

“Hang on a minute, let me walk down to his lab. I’ll get him to call you as soon as I find him, yeah?” 

“Yeah, thanks.” Harry said weakly, and they both rang off. 

He lingered for a moment in the cooler night air. It’s not like it had been that long, only twenty-four hours, but Harry missed Draco. He missed his snarky comments and the way he would have gotten completely indignant on Harry’s behalf over the Witch Weekly thing. He missed the emoticons and that stupid eggplant Draco was always sending. He missed the way Draco complained about tea and scones and clotted cream in New York. He missed the holiday stories and the silly pictures and the drunken phone calls. And, after twenty-four hours, Harry was starting to worry that he might not get those things again. 

Which was stupid, he reminded himself sternly, because it had only been twenty-four hours. Harry slipped the mobile back into his pocket, and went back inside to his friends. 

The light was off in Draco’s lab, and the door was shut. Which was--odd, but no reason to panic, Roxi reminded herself. She pushed open the door and flipped on the light, but the room was empty and steril, just the way Draco always left it. Still no reason to panic, Draco was probably just at home sleeping. 

Roxi called him, listened to each ring with a growing sense of unease. It went to voicemail, and rather than leave a message Roxi redialed. Maybe he was asleep? Voicemail again. 

Draco wouldn’t answer if he was in the shower, Roxi told herself firmly. “Hey Draco, Potter called, just wanted to know if you were still pissed at him.” She hesitated a moment, and then hung up. 

Draco would call back. He always did. 

She went back to her desk in the bull pen and wrote a very short report for Jenkins and the French Aurors, mostly, because she was Draco’s partner and not at all because she had something useful to add. And then it was the backlog of thefts, her primary purview. 

She was in the midst of weighing the evidence in the theft of an heirloom gold scale that would, supposedly, measure things exactly, whatever that meant or a Moon Globe which, apparently, demonstrated just how the lunar landing had affected the moon’s magical properties. 

When Henri and Luis stopped by her desk, she was, secretly, grateful for the interruption and eagerly pushed aside the two reports. “Is that it for you two then?” 

Luis smiled large and luminously. “It is. We will be out of your hair now in just a few minutes.” 

And Roxi thought how relieved Draco would be; she’d call him and maybe he’d come over to her mother’s for dinner. An impromptu celebration. “Well, glad we could be of help.” She nodded and reached for her files again because Luis was still smiling and it was actually starting to make her a little uncomfortable. 

“Until next time.” Luis gave her a jaunty wave. 

“Au revoir, Roxi.” Henri pecked her cheek, and Roxi watched the two of them make their way through the busy room, Henri carrying a small case and Luis levitating a large box. 

“Christ those must be some big bones. How big does a Peluda get?” One auror complained as he ducked out of the way. 

Roxi watched them until they were no longer visible and then picked the gold scales case because the grandson seemed potentially suspicious, and really, there were enough lunar landing hoax theories. 

It was five o’clock before Roxi realized that Draco hadn’t returned her call. He hadn’t stopped by her desk, the way he did sometimes after spending a long time in his lab. No interoffice memo (his favorite way of communicating with coworkers), nothing. With a frown, Roxi went back down to his lab, which was still just as dark and empty as before. She gave him another call which went to voicemail again. 

And that was about the time those concerned feelings morphed into full on worry. 

_Potter, did you hear from him? RM_ She typed out while not running to Jenkins office back in the bullpen. 

_no. HP_

Roxi knocked loudly on the door, and then stuck her head in the room without waiting for a reply. Jenkins was in the middle of talking to a Junior Auror. “Can I help you?” She raised her eyebrows annoyed. 

Roxi ignored that. “Did Draco come in today? I can’t seem to find him.” 

“Oh?” Her eyebrows fell. “Maybe he decided to take some time off. I told him yesterday he has a lot of vacation saved up.” 

Roxi tapped her fingers on the doorframe and said with a frown, because Draco and vacation? “Maybe. Thanks.” 

And then she was off to Draco’s apartment, banging loudly on the door, and then aparating straight inside when he didn’t answer right away. The lights were out, the curtains drawn, and there was still a faint smell of disinfectant in the air. 

She stormed through the one bedroom, noticed the light on the dishwasher, the laundry folded in the basket but not yet put away, the neatly made bed. He had not been here all day. And it was ridiculous, but Roxi just remembered him in the diner looking small and lost, and oddly thin. It was how she always imagined he’d looked that horrible year he’d had to fix the Vanishing Cabinet. 

*** 

Draco woke up in his childhood bedroom and tried, unsuccessfully, not to vomit over the side of the bed. 

“My my,” Luis drawled from the corner, and Draco felt his stomach heave again. “Such a mess. And I thought you might be glad to return to your,” he hesitated while looking for the right word, “enfance.” 

Draco wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “What do you want with me?” 

Luis shrugged and then stepped away from the door. Draco watched as he approached the end of the bed, and then stepped around the side to sit next to Draco. He conjured a glass and filled it with water. “Only your assistance, and perhaps a little blood.” 

“My assistance? With what?” Draco didn’t touch the water. 

Luis ran a hand along Draco’s face, and Draco shuddered away from him. “I do not understand why you dislike me so intensely. I only want to restore the world to the way it was meant to be.” 

Draco scouted farther away. “There’s nothing wrong with the way the world is.” 

And Luis followed him. “You don’t truly believe that. There is an order to what the world should be, and we have defiled it. You once fought for that order, but that man was lost to madness. I am not, I can remake this world for you.” 

Draco’s hands shook and he shoved them between his knees. “I won’t help you,” he whispered. 

“Oh Draco, there is no need to be afraid,” Luis said, his voice smooth and soothing. “I want only to help. I want only to make things better. I am the only one who can make this world better.” 

Draco scooted again and fell off the bed. “I won’t help you,” he said again, louder this time, with more conviction. 

Luis stood over him and shrugged unconcerned. “I am sorry you feel that way.” He strode over to a corner of the room. “But, perhaps, I can change your mind.” 

From his place on the floor, Draco couldn’t quite see what Luis was doing, and common sense warred with fear. He was doing something, and Draco couldn’t be prepared to face it if he didn’t know what it was. On the other hand, if he didn’t see it, then, even if it was only for a moment longer, he could pretend it wasn’t there. 

“You know, there is so much illegal export from France, Henri and I travel quite a lot, to lots of very interesting places. And I ‘ave learned about many interesting creatures. ‘Ave you heard of a Fwooper?” 

Draco hadn’t, and he didn’t feel the need to say that. 

“It is a rare bird, native to Africa. Perhaps you ‘ave ‘eard of Uric the Oddball? No? Well, ‘e believed the Fwooper to be quite beneficial to a wizard’s ‘ealth; the Wizarding Council disagreed though when ‘e was seen wearing a dead badger on ‘is ‘ead.” 

And finally, Draco could not ignore the threat any longer. He turned slowly and peeked over the top of the bed to the corner, where Luis had unveiled a rather small, pink bird. It scooted back and forth on its perch in the birdcage. 

“I suppose we will find out just exactly what a Fwooper does to a wizard’s ‘ealth, non? Finite.” His eyes twinkled as he left the room. 

The bird stood still and silent on its perch, and after a moment, Draco stood up to search for his wand and check the door. There was nothing in any of his drawers, long since emptied when his mother left, and the wardrobe was just as empty. He was testing the door knob when the bird began to sing a high pitched, twittering sort of song. 

It was--sort of pleasant. There was something familiar to it that Draco couldn’t quite recognize, and he crept from behind the bed to get closer. The bird had small eyes set close to its beak, and all the feathers on its head pointed out like it was bristling. And there was something deeply compelling in it’s song. 

Draco closed his eyes to focus on that familiar thing, he could almost make it out, like a voice in the twittering. It was a voice, but it wasn’t words, he realized as he listened. Rather, it was a high pitched laugh. Draco immediately doubled over, dry heaving onto the parquet floors, a clammy sweat all over his skin, shivering uncontrollably. 

Because that laugh had usually been accompanied by a flash of green light and the death of an innocent. 

*** 

Roxi stood outside of Draco’s lab again; she could not shake the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. He had not been at her mothers, none of her sisters had heard from him (not that there was a reason they would have, but sometimes they texted), he was not at the Martini Club or that shady club down the street he liked. Roxi could not find him anywhere. 

She pushed open the door to his lab once more, turned on the light, and looked around, hoping for a clue. His tool bag was on the floor next to the counter, and inside Roxi found his Magic Seeing Spectacles and put them on. There was a faint glitter in the air, the tell tale sign of magic, but old and faded, from more than twelve hours ago. 

“But less than twenty-four.’’ Because that amount of magic would have dissipated. So who had been using magic in Draco’s lab? 

Roxi went straight to Jenkins office. “Hey, I still can’t find Draco.” 

Jenkins looked up from the reports she had been reviewing. “Have you tried that friend of his, the one in England? I told him he could take a few days, maybe he decided to go.” 

Roxi paused. “Yeah, uh, you think Draco took a spontaneous trip--across the ocean--without telling _anyone_ , and that’s why I can’t find him.” 

Jenkins lowered the report in her hand to her desk slowly. “Do you have an alternative theory?” 

“I saw ambient magic in his lab, probably cast sometime last night.” Roxi breathed out slowly and forced her hands to relax. It wouldn’t do to get angry here. 

“He is a wizard.” 

Was she being deliberately obtuse? “I can probably count, on one hand, the number of times Draco has cast in his lab, and every single one of those involved an explosion. There is no explosion in there.” 

Jenkins put down her file, clasped her hands in front of her, and looked intently. “What are you not saying Roxi? Just spit it out.” 

Roxi sucked in a breath, held it, and then said, “I think he was kidnapped.” Which was utterly ridiculous when said out loud. 

And yet. 

Jenkins paused before she answered. “Have you traced his phone?” 

“No.” 

Jenkins rolled her eyes, and started tapping away at her computer. Technically, Roxi wasn’t supposed to track phones without a supervisor’s approval, but most everyone in the department used the software to keep track of errant children or siblings. Draco was usually the one tracking down Marie or Lacy for Roxie. 

“There.” Jenkins flipped the screen around for Roxi to see. “England. I told you.” 

Roxi leaned in closer. “Wiltshire? But Harry’s in London. Why would Draco go to Wiltshire?” 

“Weekend getaway? I don't know.” Jenkins took back her computer. “Is there anything else you needed?” 

“No.” Roxi said, already walking for the door, her phone in her hand and scrolling for Potter’s number. She paused in the bullpen; it would be after midnight if she called now. Harry might not answer, and if he was with Draco they might be preoccupied. 

Draco would be pissed as fuck if Roxi interrupted them. 

She clenched her hands, nails digging into the palms, and then hit call. Better for Draco to be pissed then for him to actually be kidnapped. 

Harry was groggy when he answered the phone. “What time is it?” 

Roxi licked her lips. “Is Draco there?” 

Harry sat up in his bed and rubbed his free hand over his face. “Why would Draco be here?” 

“Why would he be in Wiltshire?” Roxi countered, stomach one long clench. 

“He wouldn’t. What’s going on?” Harry rubbed the last of the sleep from his face 

Roxi sucked in a breath. “His phone is in Wiltshire.” 

The fuck? Harry froze. “Why would his phone be in Wiltshire?” 

“I don’t know.” Roxi could hardly breath. 

And, because Draco being in Wiltshire wasn’t a thing that made any sense, and Harry didn’t understand why Roxi was asking, he said, “Are you saying he’s in England?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Harry was starting to panic. Roxi did not say things like that, especially not about Draco. She was the one people went to when they needed to talk to Draco. Which meant something was very, very wrong. What if Draco hadn’t replied to his texts because he was pissed? What if he hadn’t replied because he was in danger? “What do you mean you don’t know?” 

“I don’t know where he is!” She yelled. “I’ve _been_ everywhere. His apartment, his lab, the bars he likes. I fucking went to my mother’s because I didn’t know where else to look, he isn’t fucking here!” 

“Why do you think he’s in Wiltshire?” Harry threw off his blankets and rummaged about on the floor for pants one handed. 

“Jenkins traced his phone there!” Roxi shouted. “What’s in Wiltshire?” 

Harry froze, one leg shoved into his pants and the other still naked. “Malfoy Manor?” 

“Why would he go there? He hates that place. Why would he go there in the middle of the night and not tell anyone?” 

“His mum’s in France.” 

“Then why is he in Wiltshire?!” 

“I don’t know.” Harry shoved his leg in and yanked up his pants. “I’ll find out. I’ll go.” 

“You can’t go by yourself, and I can’t get there fast enough. I can’t get to the Port Key office until morning.” 

Harry found his denims and a shirt. “I’ll get Ron. We’ll go out to the Manor, and I will call you right away.” 

“You fucking better, Potter. Because if he’s-if he’s--” But she didn’t say it. 

Harry swallowed his own lump of fear. “Was there--was there a note or--or anything?” 

Roxi shook her head as if he could see her on the other end of the line. “Nothing, I didn’t find anything. But he was--I think he was afraid of Luis.” 

“Okay, I have to call Hermione, and get Ron, and then we’ll go to Wiltshire, and I will call you as soon as I find anything.” 

“Okay, yeah, okay.” Roxi sucked in a long breath. “Call me.” 

Harry gave himself a moment after Roxi rang off just to breath. To remind himself that Draco was a fully grown and trained wizard who had survived living with Bellatrix and Voldemort. He was stronger then people gave him credit for. He was a survivor. 

He called Hermione. “Hey, sorry to wake you, but can I have Ron?” 

There was a sort of shuffling, and a sleepy whispered, “Ron, Ron, it’s Harry.” 

“Harry?” 

Harry closed his eyes and focused on the mission; this was just like any other case. “Can you come to Wiltshire with me?” 

“Uh, yeah, uh why?” 

“Draco’s missing.” 

*** 

The screaming had stopped, but Draco was still clutching his ears and hiding in the corner by the bedside table. He was trying to breath, trying to remember what his therapist had said about this. It was important to remember, there was advice, techniques, things that could--that could-- 

And then someone was touching his knee, and there was a calming voice. “There, there, that terrible bird is quiet now. It’s alright, I’ve made it better for you.” 

Very slowly, Draco opened his eyes and looked into the kind face with the soft words that were most definitely not horrifying screams of laughter. 

“See, I can ‘elp you, Draco. I can make it better.” 

“You--you did it to me,” Draco breathed out. 

“No, you are confused.” Luis gently lifted Draco’s left arm and ran his fingers over the faded smudge that was all that remained of the Dark Mark. “I am ‘ere to ‘elp. I need something from you though. Will you give me what I need?” His fingers kept tracing the mark. 

It was easier to think, without the Fwooper twittering, and Draco remembered--remembered that Luis had stolen him, brought him to Malfoy Manor, that Luis had plans. And Draco needed to find out what those plans were. 

“What do you need?” He asked, voice breathy, as if he had been the one screaming. 

“Just some blood, your blood, preferably. All that history.” He stroked his fingers lightly along the inside of Draco’s arm, across the Dark Mark. A mockery of something intimate, and yet--it felt intimate, as if Luis were about to carve into Draco and pull out all the worst parts of him. 

“Oh.” 

Luis held his wand over the Mark, and Draco saw the dry, pale wood, unlike any wand he had seen before. “Diffindo.” Luis drew a shallow cut up his arm and turned it so that the blood would fall into a small bowl. 

And Draco remembered standing in his lab, holding his own wand and being afraid of Luis. He remembered the way his body had snapped together tightly and he had been completely unable to move or speak. But Luis hadn’t cast. The wand had not moved, no words had been spoken. _Luis had not cast; the wand had done it._

“You were in Los Vegas?” Draco asked, trying to keep his voice low and breathy. 

“Hm,” Luis watched the blood pool. “Yes.” 

“It’s a Thunderbird core, isn’t it? In your wand?” 

Luis looked up and smiled, and Draco could see why people liked him, why they trusted that face. “You’re quite clever. It is a Thunderbird feather. I had heard they were loyal wands, prone to defend their masters, to cast curses when they sense a threat even before their master senses it. But I did not know until it cast on you. I was very pleased.” 

“Why do you need blood?” 

Luis traced his wand back along the wound. “Episkey. You are full of questions.” He started to rise. 

And Draco reached up fearfully, latched onto Luis’s arm. “Wait! Don’t leave!” He hadn’t meant to do any of that, but his hand was already scrabbling to keep Luis close, to not let him leave, to not be alone with that terrible, terrible laugh. 

And Luis knelt down again, put his bowl of blood on the edge of the bed, and soothed both hands down Draco’s face. “Oh, do not worry. I will not leave you alone with the Fwooper for long. With the Philosopher's Stone and the last living follower of Voldemort at my side, I will remake this world as it was meant to be. I will save you.” He ran a soothing hand across Draco’s arm. 

“That’s what the blood is for? Making the Philosopher’s Stone?” Draco collapsed back against the wall. 

“Like I said, so clever.” Luis smiled again. “We shall do great things.” 

And then he was standing, turning back to the door, and leaving Draco alone again. He pressed his face against his knees and squeezed his hands over his ears; the Fwooper was singing again. 

Maybe it was minutes. 

Maybe it was hours. 

Draco would never quite be sure. He could only hear the maniacal laughter and the screams of the innocents, of Professor Burbage and that muggle girl who had wandered too close to the Manor. There were the sobs of his mother late a night in the Parlour when everyone but Draco and her were asleep, and there were what Draco realized were his own whimpers of pain. He could hear Doby and Ollivander and Luna crying softly together in the dungeons and Bellatrix’s casting over and over and over. 

And through it all was that laugh, that laugh that had once charmed and pleased his parents, that had come only to mean pain. 

Maybe it was hours, maybe it was minutes. 

But Draco didn’t care when that door opened and the bird went silent and the horror was over if only for a minute. He couldn’t feel anything but grateful for the reprieve, couldn’t imagine what might be in store in a few hours or a few minutes, could only try to breathe deep the sudden silence. 

“I thought you might like to watch the final casting.” Luis knelt down in front of him, the bowl back but filled with far more blood then what he had taken from Draco. “I wanted the Thunderbird wand for its mastery of transfiguration, the preemptive casting was an unexpected advantage. Would you like to watch?” 

He nodded although he didn’t care at all. Luis could have been dicing flobberworms, and Draco would have been happy to watch for the silence it provided. Luis dipped his wand in the blood and stirred. “Vivamus mutare renascitur. Vivamus mutare renascitur.” He whispered and stirred. And the blood began to coalesce in the middle, to grow firm, to twist back on itself. 

They were both busy watching the spell work when the door slammed open. “Expelliarmus!” Harry shouted. 

The Thunderbird wand flew halfway through the room, froze, and then shot back towards Luis. Luis grinned triumphantly as he caught it and pointed towards the Fwooper. 

“No!” Draco cried and launched himself at Luis. 

It happened so fast that afterwards, Draco was not quite sure what precisely happened. The Auror department sent Unspeakables to study the events, to understand, because in the moment all anyone knew was that Draco launched himself at Luis, Harry cast a Protego, and then Luis exploded, blood and bone raining down and soaking through Draco’s clothes as he landed in a puddle. 

In an attempt to defend it’s master, the Thunderbird wand had cast a bambarda which rebounded off of Harry’s shield and exploded Luis. 

Draco lay in the puddle in shock and horror. He raised his gaze to Harry and said, in a very, very small voice. “I’m covered in Neo Death Eater.” 

Harry lowered his wand. “Oh thank fuck!” He cried and then promptly burst into near hysterical laughter until he fell over in the doorway. 

And then Draco was laughing and crying and not at all certain what was going on, but Harry was crawling along the floor towards him. Reaching out a hand and smothering his bloody face in desperate, dry kisses. And then Draco was mostly crying and only occasionally huffing a small desperate laugh, and Harry was whispering soothing nothings in his ear. 

“It’s alright, love. I’ve got you. Everything’s fine now.” 

Draco was suddenly crying so hard his tears looked bloody and there were pink streaks on his cheeks. 

“I found the mobile!” Ron shouted from the hall, and then, “Woah, what happened?” from the doorway. 

Harry pulled back just slightly, and Draco clutched hard at the front of his shirt. “We need to get you to St. Mungo’s. Are you hurt?” 

Draco shook his head and buried it in Harry’s chest. “Oh, god, I thought I was going to die. I thought--” 

“You’re okay. We’ve got you.” Harry started to stand, hauling Draco up with him. “Come on, let’s get you to St Mungos and then call Roxi.” 

“Oh god,” Draco moaned. “She’s going to smother me. I’m going to get so fat after this!” 

“What?” Ron interjected. 

“So much pie, Weasley. There’s going to be so much pie.” 

“I’m confused.” Ron shook his head. “I’m tired of being confused. Can someone just tell me what is going on?” 

It was then that the Fwooper seemed to realize it was getting left behind and shook itself hard enough to rattle the cage. Draco panicked and fled to the hallway. “Don’t touch it! Don’t let it sing!” 

Harry looked at Ron who looked back at him and then cast a silencing charm. “Should hold until we can get back here. Merlin, it’s going to be a long day. I think the sun is coming up.” 

Harry glanced over at the window where the sky was just starting to lighten. “Yeah, it is.” 

St. Mungo’s ran about a thousand tests, and Robard’s himself came in to take everyone’s statements. “What a mess, a right cock-up this one.” He just kept repeating. The French are going to be pissed.” 

Draco huddled in the middle of the bed, knees pulled up under his chin. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to cause trouble.” 

Robards gave him a narrow look. “You never do.” 

But then Harry was coming back into the room with steaming cups of tea. “Are you all finished? I think Roxi arrives soon. Ron promised to get her from the Port Key Office.” 

Robards nodded absently. “After she’s done here, have her stop by my office and I’ll collect her statement then.” he stepped over to the doorway, and then looked back at Harry who was setting the tea down on a table and pulling a chair closer to the bed. “I’ll expect your report by tomorrow morning.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Draco relaxed his legs when it was just the two of them and held the cup of tea loosely in both hands. 

“All your tests are coming back fine. Just waiting on the bloodwork, and they’ll discharge you.” 

“Hm.” Draco looked down in the steaming liquid. 

Harry put a hand on his arm. “What is it?” 

“I just--I just keep wondering why he wanted my blood.” Draco closed his eyes. “Have they done an analysis on what else was in that bowl?” 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “It was all blood. A lot of dragon, Roxi and I think it was the Peluda blood he was after. They found some phoenix, some unicorn. Yours. 

“Why mine?” Draco looked down at his arm, at where he had let Luis slice him open, remembered how the blood had welled up and dripped into the bowl. The same way the knowledge welled up inside him and dripped into his consciousness. Why him? Why Malfoy Manor? Why cut through the Dark Mark? “It’s because I’m evil,” he choked and dropped the tea, every bit of him trembling. 

“No, no, no,” Harry insisted, surging forward onto the bed no caring about the puddle soaking into the bedding, trying to pull a flailing Draco closer to him. “No. You’re not evil. You-you made misguided choices. You’re not evil.” 

But Draco wasn’t listen, couldn’t hear, too caught in that moment when Luis sliced into his arm, in the way he smiled--so pleased with everything. 

“You’re not evil,” Roxi said matter of factly from the doorway. Her voice was loud and cut through the room and all those furious thoughts chasing circles in Draco’s head. And Draco froze in the bed. All his attention suddenly trained on her as she stood tall and fierce in the doorway. His eyes were big and he trembled underneath Harry. 

Roxi didn’t smile, but her expression went soft and her shoulders dropped just a little. Draco watched as she crossed the room in three large strides, and then she took his shaking hand in her own, laced their fingers lightly together and clutched him tight. “Evil’s charming. You? You’re just an asshole.” 

And suddenly Draco felt like he could breath, like his lungs worked the way lungs were supposed to and like air flowed the way air was supposed to 

Roxi sat down on the side of the bed, never releasing his hand. She reached up with her free hand and tugged his earring. “What kind of asshole are you today?” 

And Draco smiled, soft and slow and he breathed, filling his lungs and remembered what his therapist had said. “The kind that’s going to get out of here and eat a stupid amount of thai before dragging the both of you through every aisle of the bookstore.” 

“Yeah?” Harry asked, getting into the spirit of the moment. “And then what?” 

Draco’s smile wasn’t soft or slow any more, but something sharp and a little bit wicked. “And then I think we should go dancing and drinking, and I am going to shove my tongue down your throat and maybe into another hot, warm place.” 

And Harry wasn’t sure they were going to make it through that whole list, what with the way Draco was still a bit shivery and surely exhausted. They weren’t going to get out of here soon, and Roxi had to stop by the Ministry. But Harry was sure they could get some take away before going to Grimmauld Place, that they could eat all together and listen to the wireless while Roxi complained about Quadball. And then, eventually she’d take herself off to some hotel, and it would be just the two of them in the room, and maybe Harry would look at Draco, or maybe Draco would look at Harry, but it would be with the heat Harry remembered so well. 

Maybe they would be desperate and needy, barely bothering to pull off all their clothes before rutting and gasping their way into a shattering release. But Harry rather hoped they’d be slow, and he would get to carefully peel Draco out of the clothes Harry had brought from home for Draco to wear. That’s he’d get the chance to kiss and lick his way across every inch of that pale, scarred, perfect skin. And maybe his tongue would make it into a warm, tight place. Maybe Draco’s would. But it would be soft and careful, because Harry had no intention of letting Draco go. He was going to keep Draco this time. 

“That sounds like an asshole sort of plan to me.”


End file.
